A Wee Tale
by Cynlee
Summary: Hmmm... well, it's another story about firsts, only the Turtles would rather not hear this one.
1. Chapter 1

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Kyabetsu, thanks, especially for the title. Terran, Machias Banshee, thanks as well. Talking to you all in chat has helped me with the motivation to do this story.

TMNT belong to Mirage. But once my plans to rule the world are finalized...

**A "Wee" Tale**

Splinter sat on the floor of the dojo, pretending to meditate but in reality supervising the supposed meditation of his sons. As he glanced from face to face, he was sure of one thing-- that only one of them was truly meditating.

Raphael, no doubt, was going over in his mind the things he would soon be doing with Casey. The two of them were going to keep an eye on April's shop while she was gone for the weekend, and that was their perfect excuse to act like--

Splinter drew in a calming breath. His son was old enough to look out after himself, and though Splinter was still unsure about the relationship between the two, he recognized that his son needed companionship outside of his family.

Michelangelo was almost assuredly meditating on making a pizza for dinner, followed by an all-night movie marathon. Splinter knew that if he, himself, wished anything to eat, he had better help out and at least make a salad. Pizza he could eat, and Michelangelo was an excellent cook, but sometimes he was a bit too creative in his choice of toppings.

Donatello-- that was the easiest of all. He was pretty much consumed in a secret project with Leatherhead and Professor Honeycutt, and it would take all of Splinter's parental authority to insist that he eat dinner first before he vanished for the weekend. No one was allowed near the invention site, and even Michelangelo had not been able to discover this deep secret. Splinter knew that if he insisted, Donatello would show him, but he decided to let his son have his privacy in this matter.

Leonardo-- Splinter was pretty sure that this one was meditating in the true sense of the word, and not merely going over plans for the evening or, indeed, the weekend. Of the four, he had been the first to master himself in this aspect.

Indeed, Leonardo was first at a lot of things, and this led to constant friction. Tonight, for example, Splinter knew what the first words out of Raphael's mouth were going to be once he released them from meditation to discuss the lesson.

Firsts. So many firsts. Raphael-- indeed, all of them, tended to forget or not even know who was first to do certain things, to master certain moves. He knew and treasured each and every first of all four sons, hoarding them in his memory like a miser with gold.

Firsts.

"Very well, my sons," he heard himself saying. "Let us briefly discuss the session, and then you are free to leave."

"What's to discuss?" Raphael, true to Splinter's prediction, responded. "Perfect Leo has once again come in first--"

"Raph, if you'd spend as much time practicing as you do complaining--" Leo automatically responded.

"Leo, even if we were able to practice twice as much as you, you would still find a way to come in first," Donatello chimed in, tired of this argument and yet also harboring a bit of a "first envy".

"Well, he wasn't first at the Battle Nexus," Michelangelo started to brag, when three hands immediately popped his head in succession. "OW! OW! OW! Hey... it's not my fault that I won twice!"

"My sons, you are consumed with this business," Splinter interrupted. "Perhaps a story is in order..."

Four sons now sighed noisily. Not another story!

"No offense, Sensei, but those little 'tales' you tell us that have some deep and meaningful lesson to impart are really just boring," Michelangelo, feeling daring, spoke out. "And besides, how many times do we have to hear 'The Tortoise and the Hare'?"

Splinter glared at his son, and Michelangelo reacted as if his father had smacked him on the head with his hand.

"As I was saying," he continued, a definite edge to his voice, "perhaps a story is in order."

Donatello looked at the clock without seeming to. He knew that if Splinter caught him checking the time, he'd have them do more meditation for at least thirty more minutes. But he was anxious to get to Leatherhead's place! They were close to finishing--

"Please, Sensei, I told Casey I'd meet him as soon as training was through," Raphael took a chance. "We promised--"

"AS I WAS SAYING," each word clipped out of Splinter's mouth like nails being shot from a nail gun. "This is a story about firsts. Now, it is true, Leonardo usually masters the new katas and the new moves first. That is just part of his nature. But you all have mastered many things, or done something first before the others. Donatello, for example, was the first to speak."

"Yeah, but Mikey was first to speak normally-- and too much," Raph grumbled, earning looks from both of his brothers.

"Raphael! Who is telling this story?"

"Sorry, Sensei."

"Donatello was the first to speak. Leonardo was the first to walk," Splinter continued, eyes starting to see it in his memory as if it were in front of him: _Leonardo, sitting on the floor where the others were crawling, watching Splinter as he moved back and forth in their little "home". Then, crawling to the low table, he had hauled himself up to his unsteady feet, and with great determination began to slowly move around the table, holding on for dear life._

Splinter, finally noticing, froze where he was as the baby turtle made three slow circuits around the low table. Leonardo then looked at his father standing a short distance from him, watching. He grinned a huge baby grin, and with a sudden lurching motion made a very unsteady yet successful trip from the table to the Rat, arms waving wildly when his balance threatened to abandon him. It was all Splinter could do to keep from rushing to meet him, to prevent him from falling. But the determined turtle made it, grabbing Splinter's newly acquired robe with both hands and grinning up like he'd done something magnificent.

"Maybe we could sneak out while he's remembering," the whisper of Michelangelo to his brothers cut into his reverie, and Splinter realized that he was not really telling them a story at the moment.

"Yes, Leonardo was the first to walk-- and you, Michelangelo, were the last," Splinter said. "And you may very well be the last again-- the last to leave the dojo."

The others tried not to laugh.

"The story I will tell is about one of the most difficult lesson any of you had to learn," Splinter went on. "This lesson was so difficult that I feared that none of you would or even could master it. I, myself, was new to it, and perhaps that is why it was so hard for you all to learn. It was learning how to use the potty."

Four turtles groaned in horror.

"Sensei! Please! Ain't we a little old to be hearing this story?" Raphael protested. He did not want to hear about when they were being potty-trained. He began to remember vague nightmares about being swallowed by the toilet.

"What's the matter, Raph? Afraid to hear how you were last?" Leonardo teased, though he, too, was not looking forward to this story.

"No, it was Mikey," Donatello said. "Remember how you whined and fussed until Splinter changed your bed with Leo's because of how many times Mikey would wet his, and it would drip down on you?"

"HEY! I didn't wet the bed-- much," the youngest protested.

"And I asked to be changed 'cause Mikey was drivin' me nuts with his constant chattering!" Raph insisted.

"My sons! The sooner I can tell this story, the sooner you can leave," Splinter reminded them.

Four turtles realized that there was no way they were going to distract their father from his insistence on telling this tale. They had hoped that by arguing and bantering he would grow tired and kick them out, but tonight he was being stubborn.

Sighing as one, they all four turned their attention back to their father.

"Now," Splinter said, satisfied that he had a captive audience, "it was shortly after I had moved us to our former home that I set about trying to train you four to the uses of our new toilet."

His eyes took on that faraway look as he began the story... so long ago...

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Splinter stared at this device. He knew from observations (the descriptions of those circumstances are best left out of this story, Donatello) that one "sat" on the oval shaped seat, and eliminated into the bowl of water. Then one depressed the handle, and the water would swirl and empty from the bowl, taking the waste with it.

He stared at the roll of paper. This was for "cleaning" oneself afterwards. It seemed rather unsanitary to the rat, using one's hands to do such a thing. Licking had always served a much more sensible purpose. But his new body shape and new awareness made this former natural trait unacceptable.

His eyes went back to the toilet. He had observed (again, how, when, where, and why were not important, Michelangelo, stop interrupting) that some of the surface dwellers would stand when urinating, and sit when defecating (MICHAELANGELO! One more interruption and...). Splinter was not sure that this would be a good idea for him, this standing in front of the toilet. Maybe later, when the Turtles were older and taller, he would revisit that aspect of this new lifestyle.

But for the moment, he would concentrate on sitting on the bowl.

The turtles were asleep. He would not be interrupted.

Gingerly, carefully, as if he were afraid of being attacked, he maneuvered himself over the bowl and sat on the seat--

Splash!

And immediately jumped up again, pulling his tail from the water. Quickly, he grabbed a towel and dried it, then wiped up the floor where the drippings had fallen.

"Hmmm... What do I do about my tail? This is going to be harder than I thought," he spoke aloud, looking from the toilet to his poor tail and back again.

The strange tank, along with how it was hooked up to the bowl, made draping his tail down the back almost impossible. He tried again, keeping it carefully pulled around to the side.

But where it joined his body began to hurt terribly. He had to lean forward, and as he tried to get more comfortable, he leaned forward too far, lost his balance, and fell off the toilet.

("BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" "Mikey!" three sets of voices chorused)

Perhaps if he straddled it, facing the wall, then his tail could drape over the front... once again he tried this. He still had to lean forward, but the tank was there to support him.

It was very uncomfortable, but at least his tail was out of the water and not being strained at the base by some unnatural position...

"And now, to see if I can do this," he said aloud again--

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"Jeeze, Sensei! Please tell me you're not going to give us a blow-by-blow description of actually USING it!" Raphael couldn't keep himself from interrupting.

Splinter noticed that all four were squirming with embarrassment. Yes, perhaps Raphael was right. He did not need to go into complete detail.

And yet, it had given him a sense of accomplishment, knowing that he could do this "human" thing...

"Well, once I felt confident in the ability to do this task myself," he said. "I decided it was time to begin your lessons."

"Sensei, with all respect," Leonardo interrupted. "I understand that you wish to share this lesson with us, but you did give Raphael and Donatello permission to go out tonight, and they are already running late."

Splinter looked at the clock, then at his sons.

"Yes, you are right. I have kept you longer than intended. Very well, you are dismissed."

With a sigh of relief, all four stood and bowed to their Sensei. They had escaped the rest of this story!

"We will continue it tomorrow after morning training," Splinter shattered their hopes. "See you then, my sons."


	2. Chapter 2

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WOW! I've created a first evidently! Who would have thought that there would be something new to write about the Turtles?

TMNT are the property of Mirage-- and I hope they never read this story.

Splinter kept his eyes on his sons during meditation. He knew what they were planning.

Morning training had gone surprisingly smoothly! The usual animosity (underlying, of course) had miraculously been replaced by a mutual admiration society!

Donatello: Mikey, that was the best kata I've seen you do in quite some time! Have you been getting in some extra training like Leo?

Michelangelo: Gee, thanks Don! No, I'm just trying harder. I know I should practice more. But man, you really caught me by surprise with that move you made in our bout!

Donatello: I hope I didn't hurt you too much.

Michelangelo: No, that hardly hurt at all-- but I'm watching out for you, bro!

Leonardo: Raph, could you show me later that little disarming trick you used on Don today?

Raphael: Sure, Leo! If you'll show me how you managed to block my best sneak attack! Maybe I've been using it too much, and you've finally caught on! You surprised the heck out of me!

Leonardo: No, I was just lucky today. I think I surprised myself more than I surprised you!

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Yes, keep believing that you are smarter than your Sensei, my sons. Keep believing that.

Even meditation had gone off without a hitch. For once, all four gave the sincere appearance of actually meditating and not just killing time.

"And now, my sons," Splinter said in preparation for ending the training session. "What are your plans for today?"

"Well, I'm off to Leatherhead's, if that's okay," Don began, a bit too eagerly. "We're really close to finishing our project! In fact, the sooner I get there, the sooner we'll be done."

"Real smooth, Don," Splinter heard Raphael mutter under his breath. Splinter pretended to not notice. After all, if they thought him senile enough to believe such transparent attempts to distract him, then he would play the part-- for the moment.

"I can hardly wait to see this marvelous project when it is finished," Splinter smiled, then he turned to Raphael. "And what of you, my son? Surely you will not be needed to guard over April's shop during the day?"

"Well, actually, Sensei, me and Casey thought we'd surprise April by giving the place a nice cleaning," he responded smoothly. "And since she hasn't had a chance to inventory some new stuff she got, we thought we could do that for her as well."

"Very commendable," Splinter approved, and Raphael struggled to keep a relieved sigh from escaping him.

"Mikey and I are going scavenging in the junk yard," Leo immediately said, before Splinter could ask either one. He did this mainly because his youngest brother had proved to be the weakest link in their chain of defense that they had spent a good deal of a very early morning meeting forging.

"In the daylight, my son?" Splinter pretended worry. "I hardly think that--"

"Oh, it's okay! We're going to the island where the Professor and those other homeless people took over-- you know, where that guy who called himself 'the Garbage Man' had first enslaved them? You've met the Professor," Leo grinned reassuringly. "And they know us over there. We'll be safe! Though we do need to leave early before there is too much river traffic..."

Splinter eyed all four. They wore the hopeful smiles of youth, sharply reminding him of the many times as children when they were trying to pull a fast one.

"These all sound like excellent plans," he approved. "Very well, you are all dismissed--"

They started to rise.

"--after I continue my tale from last night."

Stunned silence. Four turtles, in various stages of getting up from the floor, were frozen like statues, as if someone had shown them the head of the Gorgon and turned them all to stone.

"Now, where was I?" Splinter mused, as the still quiet quartet slowly, reluctantly lowered themselves back to the floor. "Oh, yes! I had finally been successful myself in learning to use the toilet, and now it was time to begin training you four."

He ignored the groans, and merely settled into his storytelling mode.

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**Lesson One--Where NOT to Go!**

Splinter had taken every opportunity to scrounge whatever reading material he could find. Most of it had pages missing, and some was so complicated that he despaired of ever learning. He had managed to do better with the Japanese forms-- no doubt due to some strange familiarity with it, having lived in Japan with Master Yoshi, witnessing his beloved "father" writing many times as he sat comfortably on his desk watching, and listening to the explanations of the man. Indeed, he still had memories of Master Yoshi talking to him as if he were human. (Yes, I know it sounds fantastically unbelievable, but that is the truth, Donatello! No, you may NOT explain the theoretically impossible possibility of such a thing occurring, you may be quiet!)

One of the good things about living in New York was the amount of reading material in so many languages-- this also was the drawback, but Splinter knew what Japanese looked like, and he had grasped an understanding of English, so he soon learned to focus on those two languages. (No, there were no books in Latin... if you insist on interrupting, this story will take longer...)

Among his tattered book collection was something that had puzzled him until they had moved here-- a book on potty training. Now, fortunately it had contained pictures, but Splinter, though he had found these highly interesting (No, there were no "naughty" pictures in it, Michelangelo, and you are very close to doing fifty flips), did not at first realize the importance of this find. Still, he held on to it, as it was a book, and he needed all the practice in reading that he could get.

When they had lived in his old burrow, he had managed, once they were walking, to train them to take their business away from the sleeping and eating area. There had been, just outside of their hiding place, cloaked in shadow but not too dark, a very shallow side channel. A small pipe, rusted through and attached to an adjoining wall, released a steady trickle of water into this channel. Splinter, by taking the four of them there at certain times (once I had recognized the signs of someone needing to relieve himself), got them to do their business in the channel, where the water safely washed the waste away.

It ran into the main channel that passed in front of their home, and therefore had caused Raphael some confusion. Why was it okay to get in here, yet he couldn't play in the big one? It was all so puzzling to such a young turtle. But Father said "No! Father spank!" whenever he got near it-- so he learned quickly not to worry about it.

At any rate, they had learned quickly, and took care of their business on their own if they needed to, though they usually waited for Splinter to say "Who needs to go?"

At the new place there was no handy channel. Splinter, upon their first moving in, had wondered what to do. The toilet seemed so alien that he did not wish to overwhelm them. There was the bath tub, which was kind of like the channel, but he did not want them to use that as he planned on their bathing in there (Splinter: What do you mean, "that didn't stop Mikey?" Raphael: Nothing, Sensei! Michelangelo: Dude! I never!) . He scouted around outside their new home, but nothing similar to what they'd left behind was available. That first day he ended up taking them out to the large channel several times and, one by one, picking them up and holding them over the edge so they could go.

This proved tiring, not to mention dangerous. Sometimes they tried to get in themselves, but the water was rushing here, and it was a much deeper channel than the old one.

When he had tucked them in that night, he worried that they might need to get up. He resolved himself to having to change the beds in the morning, or clean up the room. But when that first new morning in their new home arrived, the beds were dry and the room was clean.

Yet there was a smell...

"Mornin'!" four tiny voices kept shouting over and over and over, and he had no chance to search out the source of the odor as four hungry babies ran around him, hanging on his robe, almost swinging, as they kept chanting "Mornin'! Mornin'! Mornin'!"

Everyone went outside; everyone did his business in the channel when it was his turn, then everyone went back into the home for breakfast.

It was a hectic day that day, what with lighting the gas appliances and finishing the cleaning of the large home. It wasn't until late in the "afternoon" that Splinter realized that no one had come crying to him about having to go.

He checked on the four, who were happily playing in their room. The four looked up with beaming faces, always glad to see their father.

They had dug out some of the clothes he had been scrounging for them and were once again playing "dress up". He really needed to find them some toys.

"Does anyone need to go?" he asked, but even as he entered the room, the smell from this morning was now overwhelming. He looked around the bedroom, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"We goed already!" Leonardo informed his father proudly. "We goed all day and not had to bother you! We's big boys!"

"Yes! Big boys go on der own!" Raphael affirmed, and all four looked at Splinter with pride.

"We goed inna dark place, just like we suppose to!" Donatello informed him, grabbing the hem of his robe and leading him across the room towards--

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"The closet? Eww, that must have been Raph, I would NEVER do anything like that in there!" Michelangelo adamantly declared.

"Yes, the closet," Splinter affirmed. "You had decided that the closet was dark and away from the sleeping area and the food area. You did not like my holding you over the channel to do your business, and so you four clever little babies found your own place to go."

"Eww! I used to hide stuff in that closet!" Donatello looked ill. He had fond memories of his secret hiding place in there, one that he had made himself, well-concealed in the far left hand upper corner. Had THAT been the place they had used as their own private toilet?

"Hide stuff? I used to PLAY in that closet," Leonardo responded, just as repulsed.

"Play? You always told me you were 'meditating'," Mikey frowned, old childhood memories of being rejected by his brother surfacing. " 'Go away, Mikey, I'm meditating. I can't play "Super Mikey" with you right now'! And all this time you were lying to me!"

"Well, if you hadn't been so insistent on playing that game over and over and--"

"My sons," Splinter cut them off, for they were all beginning to bring up old grievances. All four fell silent at once. "My sons, the story is not finished."

"We get it, Sensei," Raphael said impatiently. "We used to dump in the closet, and you trained us to dump in the toilet-- all except Mikey, who kept using the--"

"I did not!"

"Silence!" Splinter commanded. "You **will **hear this story, whether you wish it or not!"

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****

Introduce your child to the potty. Explain how it works. Show him that it is the proper place for doing his business. Make it an enjoyable learning experience. But do not place him on it just yet. Let him get to know the potty, to see that it is a friend, not an enemy! Potty time is a fun time, not a chore!

"This is a toilet, my sons," Splinter said, standing in front of the object. Four little turtles were grouped around the bowl, looking in it at the water, touching the smooth, cool curved outside, gazing in wonder at the large white box that was somehow sitting on top.

"Is a chair?" Raphael asked, noticing the seat. "Is a chair widda hole? You fall through da hole!"

"Broken shair?" Michelangelo asked, looking in. "Wassit?" And he pointed his tiny hand inside.

"That is the water. And yes, Raphael, it is a chair, a special chair. You need the hole for this chair. You use this toilet like we used the channel," Splinter patiently explained. "You get on this chair, and you go. You do your business in the water, just like outside-- only Father does not have to hold you."

"Ohhhhh," four tiny voices said in unison. Donatello noticed that the seat moved. He lifted it up with one tiny hand as far as he could, then let it drop.

"Why does it move?" he asked. "Does it move when you sit on it?"

"No, my son. It moves for... well... I am not sure why it moves. And see? It also has a lid-- a lid to cover it," and here Splinter lowered the top.

"Now the hole is gone!" Leo exclaimed, pounding on the lid with both hands. Soon all four were imitating their big brother.

"Drum! I's payin' the drum!" Michelangelo laughed. He didn't really know what a drum was, but he remembered banging on some old can once with a stick and Splinter asking him to "stop playing the drum so loudly, my son!"

"Now, my sons, let us continue," Splinter said, lifting the lid again. "You see, when you sit on the seat, you go. Then, when you are finished, you get off of the seat."

"But it'll be there," Donatello pointed out. He had been the first to observe so long ago that what they did in the channel did not stay in the channel.

"No, we do not let it stay there," Splinter patiently explained. "When you are through, you push this handle-- see the shiny handle? You push it like this, and--"

Splinter flushed the toilet. Immediate the strange sound of rushing water abruptly echoed in the bathroom. Four turtles were startled. Raphael and Michelangelo both backed up from this thing! Leonardo wanted to hide behind Splinter, but for some reason he forced himself to stay put. Only Donatello had stepped closer, looking into the bowl, fascinated. He watched as water began running down the insides, while the pool of water rose up, beginning to swirl in a circle; then it sank down with a rush and disappeared through a hole at the bottom-- and then began to refill! The sound of water running was still present for a while, and then it stopped. The water in the bowl became calm again.

"How it do that?" Donatello asked excitedly. "Where the water come from?"

"No, it comes from--" for a moment Splinter was stumped. He had not really thought of it much. He lowered the seat and placed Donatello on it, standing and facing the tank. He removed the lid, and Donatello and he peered into the chamber. More water was there, along with several very interesting devices put together in a funny way. "It comes from in here."

Donatello studied the set up, putting his hand in, touching a chain and the long metal stick it was attached to. His eyes went to the handle. Tentatively, he depressed the handle, and flushed the toilet. His eyes grew large as the flushing sound happened; he could "feel" vibrations through his feet, but he was too preoccupied looking at the workings of the inside of the tank to worry.

Pushing the handle had caused the pole with the chain to pull up, and this black thing on the bottom was pulled with it, and there was a hole! Water drained out of the tank through that hole, then this thing suddenly covered the hole again, and water started coming in through this little pipe, and this floating thing like a ball-- which was attached to another metal stick, kept rising higher and higher until it got to a certain level, then it somehow stopped the water from coming in, and everything was quiet!

Again he flushed the toilet; again he stood, mesmerized, as he watched the workings of this fantastic device. Again. Again.

"That is enough, my son," Splinter worried lifting him down and once again raising the lid. "We do not want to waste the water." He turned to the others, who had come closer as they'd watched their brother play with the toilet. "Now! Who wants to be the first to go on the toilet?"

All four exchanged looks. No one volunteered.

"Come, my sons! This is what it is for! We use it instead of the channel. Or the closet."

Four turtles stared skeptically at their father.

"You use it?" Leonardo asked, curious.

"Yes, Father uses it," Splinter nodded in assertion.

Four turtles looked at each other once again, then back to Splinter.

"Lessee." And they waited.

Splinter swallowed, suddenly embarrassed. But determination overrode shyness.

"Very well," he said, preparing to demonstrate the proper use.

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"NO!" Michelangelo could not stop himself. His high-pitched scream was a plea, and he was on his knees in a flash before Splinter, bowing and begging. "Please, I'll be good! But don't finish this story! I'll make you breakfast in bed for the rest of your life! I'll practice more than Leo! I'll-- I'll-- I even be nice to Raph!"

Splinter smiled at the sight. The other three looked as if they would gladly join their youngest brother in this attempt to buy Splinter's silence, but Splinter did not give them the chance.

"Very well," he sighed. "I believe that you see my point-- though maybe I should ask you what my point is. Yes. Michelangelo, if you can tell me what point I have been trying to make, then I will go no further."

"We're sunk," he heard Donatello whisper to the others.

"Sensei, perhaps I could--" Leonardo quickly tried to intercede, but Splinter held up a silencing hand.

"Well, Michelangelo?"

The young turtle, eyes on his father, gulped a few times. He cleared his throat a few times as well, and "hmm"ed and "well"ed until he couldn't stall any more.

"Ah, you're point is..." he began, then, thinking of the story, inspiration struck. "A place for everything, and everything in its place!"

The triumphant grin on his face faded slowly in the ensuing silence.

"See you at the evening training," Splinter said. "We will continue the story at that time. Oh, and no excuses-- or I may have to invite a few of your friends over to hear the rest."


	3. Chapter 3

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The problem with success is that you have to keep it up. I hope that I do not let you down with this chapter or the next (which will be the last). Thank you for reading and commenting.

TMNT are the property of Mirage, but once I learn how to hack the system...

"I was not having much luck."

Splinter did not even give his sons a chance the next time; he had barely acknowledged that meditation was over before he had launched into this stubborn lesson on the foolishness of believing that being "first" was so important.

"I was not having much luck. I could get you all to urinate into the toilet at regular times. If pressed, some of you would actually defecate as well. But the closet, unfortunately, seemed to remain the site of choice for all four of you when left to your own devices."

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**Lesson two: where NOT to "sit"**

Splinter walked into the bedroom just in time to see his youngest standing in the closet.

"Michelangelo, what are you doing?"

"I was just sittin' in the c'oset."

Splinter knew better. How could one so "young" have learned to lie? He really needed to read that book again about toddlers. It had not made much sense when he had first fished it out of the dumpster, but now he would be able to "compare notes" as it were.

"Come, it is time to use the potty."

"I knowed. But I don't like the potty. I falled in!"

"You did not fall in," Splinter chided him as he rounded up the other three. "Raphael fell in."

("BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA---OUCH! Hey!")

Michelangelo joined the other three in the bathroom, waiting for this thing that Father kept making them do.

"My sons, you must be big boys," Splinter said to them reassuringly, as he placed Leonardo on the seat. "There is nothing to be afraid of. You will not go down with the water. You do not go down with the water in the bathtub. You cannot go down with the water in the toilet. There is nothing to be afraid of."

The poor turtle looked nervous. He spread his legs wide when Splinter had set him down, so he almost straddled the bowl, and he gripped the front of the seat with both hands, willing himself not to get a wet bottom and a scraped shell.

Ever since that terrible day, when Raphael had "fallen in", and nearly got flushed down the hole to the sewers, the foursome were very wary of using this thing.

He urinated quickly, and before Splinter could say anything, Leonardo jumped off of the toilet with an "All done!"

"My son, you must wipe."

("This is the most embarrassing thing I have ever had to endure." "Oh, my son! Do not exaggerate! I have not reached the end of this story yet, you know...")

"Oh, yeah," he smiled, and Splinter was just in time to stop him from unrolling the entire roll of paper. Then he insisted that each little turtle "flush the toilet."

"Are you sure you are all done?" Splinter questioned carefully. He was getting tired of finding surprises around the home, usually behind the bathroom door.

"Promise! I's a good boy!"

Splinter eyed his son skeptically, but Leonardo met his gaze earnestly. For the moment he was satisfied.

Donatello was no trouble. He had grasped the fact that you could not get flushed down the toilet. However, whether because he did not wish to be disturbed during play, or because his siblings were also reluctant, he had not started using the toilet on his own.

Raphael was very reluctant. That had been a scary experience, falling in-- he had played around, trying to show off that he was a big boy, and, losing his balance, "fell" into the bowl, tail in the water, shell wedged at such an angle that he couldn't get out again. Before Splinter could get his hands on him to lift him out, Michelangelo had "accidentally" flushed the toilet.

Raphael could feel the water rise up; then the suction pull on his tail--

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"Dude!" Mikey snorted, tears running down his face. "I get it! I get it now!"

"What are you talking about?" Don asked, as Raph glowered warning looks at Mikey, while Mikey kept laughing.

"You-- you know that reoccurring nightmare that Raph has?" Mikey gasped. "The one where he is shouting in his sleep? And he tells us it's nothing?"

"Mikey!" Raph growled, getting ready to attack.

"What, the one where he's shouting something about the drain?" Leo asked, slightly puzzled-- and then the light dawned. He looked at his brother, trying not to smile. "You still dream about getting stuck in the --"

"NO, I don't dream about gettin' stuck in nothin'!" Raph shouted angrily. "I dream about gettin' stuck with a lame ass brother!"

"Raphael! Respect the dojo!"

"Sorry, Sensei."

"Now, enough interruptions! Where was I?"

"You were telling about how Raph nearly went down the toilet," Mikey helpfully prompted the rat."

Raph gave him a look that promised his brother much pain later but kept his mouth shut for now.

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Raphael, eyes closed, got his business over with quickly. He just wanted to get away from that thing as soon as possible.

"Do not forget to flush, my son."

Raphael quickly hit the handle, then moved away from the toilet before it could attack him and drag him down the drain.

"Now, Michelangelo. I believe it is time for you to do both. You have not--" (Yes, I knew how many times you defecated in the toilet, and no, I was not "keeping score"!)

"I's already sitted. I doesn't need to sit in the potty."

"Michelangelo, you do not 'sit' IN the potty, you sit ON the potty," Splinter corrected.

Michelangelo looked at Splinter with a frown.

"No, I lifts the lid."

Splinter shook his head.

"I understand that, my son. But you sit ON the potty, just like you sit ON the chair or ON the couch--"

Michelangelo looked shocked!

"NO!" he protested loudly. "I doesn't sit on the couch! I's a big boy!"

Now it was Splinter's turn to look puzzled. As Michelangelo stood there, protesting his innocence and affirming that "big boys doesn't sit on the couch", he wondered if perhaps it was his fault for teaching them both Japanese and English.

"... and big boys doesn't sit on chairs or in dere beds or the baftub! I's a big boy!"

Suddenly, Splinter understood what it was his youngest was talking about.

With eyes wide and ears up in shock, he stared hard at at his son. His earnest little face peered back up to him.

"Where did you hear **that** word?"

"Inna sewer, long time ago," Michelangelo smiled proudly. "You goed up the ladder, and you sayed 'stay inna hole! Father will be back'! So we stayed inna hole inna wall, and it was dark. And den a big, big, big noise came, and we hided deep inna hole!"

Splinter listened as Michelangelo, young as he was, told this tale with much animation. In the back of his mind he knew that he was going to have to watch out for this one when he was older.

"An' the others was scared, but I wasn't scared, an' an' an' I looked, and they was a big, big, big MAN, like inna pictures you sowed us!"

Splinter nearly blanched; that he had smelled the presence of humans in that tunnel that day was not the problem. Often the human scent was strong. But that his sons had nearly been exposed to possible capture!

He swallowed hard.

"And you-- you saw this man?"

Michelangelo nodded vigorously.

"He was big! An' he had lots of fur, only not as much as you," he continued eagerly. "I's brave! I watch him so to warn the others. The man got inna channel, an' pulled down his pantses, and then! 'Nother man s'outed loud: 'Hey! Whatcha doin'?' An' the big furry man yelled 'I's SITTIN'!"

Splinter did not know which had been more impressive, the fact that Michelangelo had told this story, complete with voices, or the fact that he had latched onto that particular word and had immediately made the connection between it and the function.

**Do not be concerned with terminology. Though it is best to train your child from little up about the proper language of the situation, sometimes parents cannot help but slip in their own usage. If the child picks up a word the parent deems "unacceptable", it is best to gently discourage the child from using that word while not drawing any untoward attention to it. To do so may cause the child to make a connection between the "power" of the word and the "reaction" of the parents. Remember, words are not bad-- it is how people use them. **

**Whenever possible, ignore the use, while reinforcing the desired terminology in all of your dealings with the child. Soon he or she will drop the use of it through this type of positive reinforcement.**

"Michelangelo, I do not like you to use the potty in the closet. I want you all to stop using the closet for a toilet. Do you understand me?"

"No sittin' inna closet!" Michelangelo nodded.

"And Michelangelo, that word is not a nice word," Splinter said carefully. When I say the word 'sit', I mean like when you sit down."

"Yes! I knowed! I sit onna couch, but I don't **sit** onna couch!"

Big sigh.

"Yes, and I would like you to not use that word again, please. We say 'defecate'. Repeat after me, everyone: 'defecate'."

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"You didn't," Leonardo said, embarrassed beyond belief by this particular part of the story. "You 'taught' us to say... I can't go on..."

"Hmmm, yet you all seem to find it fairly easy to use the other word," Splinter pointed out coldly. "Rather too frequently in some instances." Here he looked pointedly at Raphael.

"Okay, I know I'm going to catch grief from the other three," Donatello said. "But seriously, Sensei, if the goal of this story is to point out to us that being first is not that important, I'm failing to see it. It's more like the point of this story is 'just how far can I go in embarrassing my sons', if you ask me. So please, just tell us who was the first one to use the toilet on his own."

Splinter looked in slight surprise at Donatello.

"My son, you have so much patience for your various projects and experiments; can you not spare me a little patience as well?"

"It's just that Leatherhead and Prof. Honeycutt will be here soon," Donatello said. "And Casey is coming over for dinner, right Raph?"

"Yeah, he is," Raphael affirmed. "Him and me are gonna cook tonight, remember Sensei?"

Splinter considered this information.

"So, what if we all agree to stop complaining so much when someone else is first to learn something--" Leo began.

"How about if **someone else** quits rubbin' it in the faces of the others instead," Raph just couldn't help saying.

"Yes, I see that you are still not ready," Splinter smiled, rising from the floor. "Have patience. I will finish this tale later. You are dismissed."

"Smooth move, guys, now we're stuck with hearing the rest of this," Donatello grumbled his way out of the dojo.

"I don't know," Mikey smiled. "I was kind of enjoying some of it. Poor widdle Waphie almost went down the dwain!"

"Hey, Mikey, eat 'sit' and die," Raph replied, heading into the kitchen to wait for Casey.

Leonardo sighed deeply. He so did not want to hear the rest of this story. As Splinter began revealing the struggles he had gone through with this embarrassing aspect of childhood, old memories were being resurrected; memories that were not pleasant to the leader.

He slowly made his way to his room, grateful for one small thing: at least Sensei didn't have any pictures.


	4. Chapter 4

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In previous chapters, my potty training advice was cobbled together from memory-- I got my first teaching degree in Early Childhood Education, and we had to study, among other things, potty training! But the information in this chapter comes from a fine little site called babycentre dot co dot uk!

TMNT belong to Mirage. Embarrassment belongs to the Turtles.

**Celebrate the Moment**

Though Professor Honeycutt could not "eat" in the normal sense, he always joined them for these invitations, and used the opportunity to "recharge" his power cells with the portable device that he, Donatello and Leatherhead had developed.

Even now, the two mutated reptiles and the android were huddled in their seats, talking about their "secret", oblivious to the others around them.

"I dunno," Raph mumbled through his food to Casey. "I gotta feeling that those three are plannin' to take over the world."

"Yeah, well, I hope they remember that we're on their side," Casey responded, helping himself to the amazing creation he and Raph had "invented" that night. "I gotta say it, Raph-- this is the best casserole we've ever come up with."

"I agree!" Raph grinned, and they toasted each other with their soda, both silently vowing to eat this stuff again at Casey's with beer to wash it down. These things just taste better with beer.

"So, Leo, how about you and me spending the evening in honorable combat," Mikey grinned. "I'll even let you choose the game we play."

"We could go on a training run," Leo suggested. Video games were okay, but he preferred actual action to virtual battle.

"Aww, come on, big bro! Where's your sense of adventure?" Mikey whined childlike. "Let me beat you at 'Mega-Invaders from Outer Space'!"

"I'd rather be out of the lair," Leo tried hinting. "You know, fresh air, change of scenery-- no stories to distract us," he lowered his voice, hoping that Mikey would catch on.

Leonardo constantly seemed to forget just how good Splinter's hearing was. It didn't matter how much chatter was going on at the table, he could hear the softest whisper, the most quiet plotting.

Splinter, sitting there politely eating what his son and Casey had "created", heard the hidden message in Leonardo's hint to Michelangelo. He sipped his tea to rid his mouth of the taste of the food, then cleared his throat.

"I trust none of you are in a hurry," he addressed the group. "I have one more thing I must discuss with my sons before they are free for the evening. It will not take long."

"Not at all, Master Splinter," Professor Honeycutt replied, obvious to the worried looks of the Turtles. "We have no set time when we need to get back to work."

"In fact, we are very close to finishing," Leatherhead added, smiling at the rat. "I personally hope that you will be the first to witness it in action."

Splinter inclined his head in gratitude.

"I would be most honored to see what it is you three have been so busy with. And you, Mr. Jones-- you can wait for Raphael?"

"Sure thing, Master Splinter!" Casey grinned before Raph's frantic looks and motions registered on his brain. "I mean... uh... well, we need to--"

"Very good, we will not keep you long," Splinter said smoothly. "I just need to finish up a little story with a moral to it, and they are free to go."

"Oh, really? A fable, like those amusing ones in the book Donatello loaned me?" Honeycutt asked interested. "May I hear it as well?"

"No!" Don nearly shouted, then, embarrassed, lowered his voice. "It's not one of those types of stories, Professor. It's more of a--"

"More of a personal nature," Leo helped out, rising quickly and motioning to his brothers to join him in the dojo. "Perhaps you all would like to wait in Don's lab?"

"Naw, I'll just crash on the couch and watch the tube," Casey cheerfully replied.

Raph was not the only one who did NOT want that. Their dojo in this home was pretty much in the open, and there was the chance that Casey might overhear this dark story of terror and embarrassment.

"Um, Case, why don'tcha head on over to April's, and I'll catch you up?" He tried hinting, and if he could have gotten away with it, he would have shoved him physically out the door.

"Do not worry Raphael. I will finish the story tonight, and it will not take long," Splinter smiled, also rising. "All of you are invited to sit comfortably in the living room," he added, looking at Leatherhead and Honeycutt.

"But-- but they might hear about--" Mikey, paling as he finally figured out the situation.

"Oh HO!" Casey snorted. "You guys are actin' all strange-- you don't want us to hear what Splinter's got to say to you-- I get it! He's giving you all 'the Talk'! Sure, it makes sense now. I felt the same way when my old man told ME the facts of life. 'Course, I was way younger than you all but--"

"Jeeze, Casey, not THAT personal," Raph grumbled. "Just go watch TV and turn up the sound, will you? Real loud."

"Aww, come on, Raphy! Now I'm kinda curious just what it is he's gonna tell you all," Casey chuckled.

"Indeed, Mr. Jones, it is a very personal story that I am telling my sons," Splinter smiled to everyone. "Though I do not understand their reluctance for their friends to hear about their childhood."

"Their childhood?" Leatherhead repeated. "I wish I could hear about some of their childhood. I would like to compare their mutation with my own sometime."

"Yeah, sometime, that'd be great L.H.!" Mikey grinned, now next to Splinter and taking his arm. "Here, Sensei, let me help you to the dojo!"

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"About this time," Splinter said, as four nervous turtles strained to keep their attention on their Sensei, yet fully aware of the presence of three formerly welcomed visitors sitting across the large room in the living area, "I came to the realization that I might be going to fast with your training. The book I had found had a section on successful potty training for boys. Naturally, I was unaware at first that there was a difference between males and females (Michelangelo, I would be very pleased to explain the differences to you-- as you do fifty flips)-- as I was saying, from my natural experience, I had no idea that there was a difference between males and females when it came to elimination. But I soon discovered (NO! I was NEVER in a women's restroom! One hundred flips!) that where humans were concerned, this difference was evidently a big deal.

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"**Teach him to sit first, then stand. Since poos and wees often come at the same time, it makes sense initially to have your son sitting down for both so he learns that both belong in the potty. Also, that way, he won't get distracted by the fun of spraying and learning to aim when you need him to concentrate on just mastering the basic procedure."**

__

The **fun** of spraying? What sort of book is this? Life was so much easier before mutation...

"**When your son seems to be comfortable on his potty or toilet training seat, let him give standing at the toilet a try (you'll have to buy a non-slip stool for him to stand on at first). There's no reason to rush this; he can sit as long as he likes. If he seems reluctant, try floating a few Cheerios or other small, flushable objects in the toilet bowl for target practice, and expect to clean up a few messes as your son perfects his aim."**

Splinter, sitting in the living room, watching the four toddlers at "play", turned his attention back to the puzzling book he was reading. He had observed that human males either stood or sat; he was unaware until he had started reading this book that the males were trained in "aiming" as well. _Humans are so complicated!_

Looking back at these four, who were beginning to show the telltale signs of having to go but reluctant to do it on their own, he despaired of ever getting them trained in anything.

"My sons, do you need to go to the potty?"

"No, father!" four voices chorused, while four turtles squirmed and wriggled and bounced and scrunched up their faces and tried to hold it.

Sighing, he closed the book and motioned everyone into the bathroom.

Once again he had to supervise, making sure the other three did not use the spot behind the door or the bathtub while the first one took care of business.

Once everyone had successfully eliminated and flushed, the four bolted from the bathroom to return to their new "toys"-- Splinter, on one of his recent scavenging rounds, had found a fairly full box of building blocks, a few plastic cars that had all their wheels (as long as Donatello could be kept from removing them, that is), and a stuffed bear that Michelangelo had named "Mr. Growlly".

"I's back, Mista Growlly!" he sang out, picking up the stuffed bear that was almost larger than he was. "I's hadda be a big boy. Does you haf to go potty?"

"No, Mikanjio!" he growled his voice, speaking for the bear. "I's doesn't haf to go potty! I's a bear! RAWRR!"

Splinter picked up his book, and looked at yet another suggestion.

"**Raise the fun factor**. **If you approach potty training with a little imagination, your child will be more likely to stay motivated throughout the entire process. Drip some blue food coloring into the toilet and your child will be amazed at how he can turn the water green. Put several favorite books next to the toilet so he can read them whenever he has to go — or better yet, read to him. Maybe he'd like to cut out paper shapes and use them for target practice."**

Again with the target practice! And as for making the toilet an object of play-- well, he had already had to prevent Donatello from finding out what items would flush down the drain versus what items would not. He had only just yesterday rescued one of the cars and three blocks from such an experiment. He was not sure if Donatello had been successful before he had been caught, but at least Splinter had NOT had to unclog the toilet once again ("Dude! You were a bad little turtle!" "Yeah, well now **I'm **not the one clogging it up all the time. Experimentation is understandable, but what **you **do is criminal.").

Briefly, as Splinter watched Michelangelo talking with the bear, he wondered if he should insist that his son start taking the toy for potty breaks. Perhaps if he could get his youngest to "pretend" that the bear needed to use the toilet, then Michelangelo would also begin to use it on his own.

And then, the others might follow. He had noticed more and more that there seemed to be a united front among the four. When one learned something, soon all of them were doing it. It was almost a competitive streak. Leonardo had barely learned to walk, and then all four were up. Well, Michelangelo had waited longer, but still.

Once Donatello started talking, it seemed that the other three suddenly began trying to talk, as if they could not stand to be left behind.

If only I can get one of them to start using the toilet without my prompting him, I just know the other three will follow! But how?

"**Celebrate his successes. He will undoubtedly have a few accidents, but eventually your son will enjoy the accomplishment of getting something in the potty. Celebrate this moment with a big fanfare. Reinforce the idea that he's reached a significant milestone by rewarding him with a 'big boy' reward..."**

Hmmm... celebrate...

Suddenly Splinter thought of something that might just do the trick! But he had to be sparing-- he did not have much of the item at hand, but they had liked what he had shown them so far. Perhaps if he were to use it for the first one to go on his own, then the other three would be more motivated!

As they built a tower of blocks and then knocked it down with the cars, he smiled at his little plan. None of them paid any attention as he left them for his own room rummaging out this most precious of finds.

__

He had been out late, scavenging as usual behind his favorite Japanese restaurant, when he'd witnessed a mugging.

Two of the humans had managed to force a translator and three Japanese tourists into an alley next to the restaurant they'd obviously just had dinner in.

"Quick and quiet, and no one gets hurt!" the larger of the two said, as both trained guns on the terrified people. The translator relayed this order in a very shaky voice, and the three elderly ladies complied, handing over their purses, jewelry, a shoulder bag and cameras.

"Look! This is almost an antique!" the smaller of the two laughed, showing the contents of the shoulder bag to his partner before tossing it carelessly into a nearby dumpster.

Splinter, hidden behind several large garbage cans, saw his chance. Picking up a lid, he threw it so it spun quickly towards the two, then ducked down quickly, not looking to see if he hit his targets.

This was just the distraction the victims needed.

"**Issou**!" the translator shouted, and the three old ladies wasted no time. The four of them, shouting for "**Tetsuda**!" as they ran, made their way back onto the street, drawing the attention of several of the restaurant workers and two off-duty police officers.

From his hiding place, Splinter was gratified to see that the two had been quickly captured and all the possessions returned to the grateful victims.

All except one.

In the excitement, they had failed to remember the case that had been tossed into the trash.

Splinter had had to sit in hiding for quite some time. He was lucky that no one had thought to check out the source of the distraction, and had even smiled when one of the officers had declared that "it was probably a rat, anyway."

Finally they had left, and Splinter, grabbing his bag of salvaged food for his sons, curiously looked into the dumpster. There was the shoulder bag, a bit soiled but undamaged.

He opened it, looked in-- and smiled guiltily. Then without a backward glance, he made his way back into the sewers and returned home.

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"Leonardo," Splinter, interrupting himself, looked at the face of his eldest. "You look ill, my son. Is something the matter?"

Leonardo indeed had, as the story unfolded, begun to look pale. A thin sheen of sweat had started to come out on his face. He was conscious of the rapid beating of his heart, of his breath struggling to come faster. He felt as if some impending doom was about to descend upon him and his brothers, some evil that he could not see yet but could sense none the less.

A distant memory from his childhood had suddenly flashed into his brain, as vivid and as fresh as if it had just happened. With a growing horror, he stared at his father.

"Master Splinter," he choked out. "Please-- tell me that you didn't..."

Splinter looked at Leonardo, puzzled.

"That I 'didn't' what?"

"Hey, Leo, what's the matter?" Don asked in a worried voice. He could tell that some sort of-- well, **fear**-- had suddenly manifested in his brother. Leo looked as if he were reliving the attack by Shredder and his large army of ninja, when he had nearly died. He put a concerned hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Leo?" Mikey was also staring, along with Raph, at this sudden, strange behavior of their leader. "Leo, what is it? What did Splinter do?"

"My son, what is the problem? I merely followed the advice of the book I was reading," Splinter defended. "It said to celebrate the successes. And so, what better way to celebrate than to mark the occasion in a special way?"

And from the folds of his robe, where he'd kept it hidden, he pulled out a small, off-white, battered and hand lettered album.

Holding it up so that the four could see, Splinter had a hard time not smiling at the looks on their faces as they read Splinter's neat and elegant writing on the cover:

_**The Book of Firsts**-- My sons and their achievements, by their loving father_


	5. Chapter 5

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Celebrate the moments of your life... but with pictures, not coffee! I wish this came with pictures! Oh, there is a flashback within the flashback as it were, which explains the long section in italics. I hope. Thanks to everyone who has read this story and paid me many kind compliments! Thanks to Terran, Machias, and Kyabetsu for beta-ing.

TMNT belong to Mirage. Happy endings belong to us all.

**Photo Finish**

"I had found the instant camera in the bag," Splinter continued, now holding the opened album in front of him so he could look at it. The four Turtles could see that he was enjoying fond memories-- his eyes shone with delight, a soft smile was present on his face as he carefully turned pages, pausing here and there to gently stroke some picture as if once again touching a tiny son's head...

__

If I make a break for it, I think I can reach the door before Sensei realizes what is happening, Mikey thought, judging the distance with his eyes, glancing back and forth from his father to the exit.

"I had seen one of them before," Splinter continued. "My master's friend had one, and they were taking pictures to send back to Japan, to his friend's family. I had my picture taken. The flash startled me, but it was interesting to look at the picture afterwards. Of course, at the time I had no real idea that it was me, or what it was about-- I believe I even challenged my own image to a fight-- but as I gained in my mutated knowledge, I found that I could recall the basic principles of the device...

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Splinter had been in luck. Not only was there a camera, but six packs of the film needed to make the instant pictures. He called up his memories of how Master Yoshi and his friend had spent a happy day taking "pictures", laughing, complaining when they did not turn out, joking with each other over who was the better photographer, and wasting film on buildings when they could be taking pictures of pretty girls.

Splinter had brought the device home and studied it carefully, referring to the little, well-worn manual that had come with it. Printed in English, the previous owner had either translated certain directions herself or had had someone do it for her, but the basic instructions had been redone in someone's neat handwriting into Japanese.

The four had been playing on the floor when he aimed the device at them and pushed the button.

The flash was bright and sudden, and for the moment it was a toss up over who had been more startled, the turtle tots or their father. Indeed, Splinter had nearly dropped the camera when that bright "flash" had illuminated his sons-- had he hurt them? He remembered that when Yoshi had taken his picture, the light had temporarily blinded him.

Four surprised turtles sat on the floor, opening and closing their eyelids rapidly; their blinking eyes looked fine but confused. One by one the strange "dots" that were in their vision suddenly began to fade, and they could see their father standing in front of them.

They looked at each other without a sound, then back to Splinter, puzzlement etched into their tiny faces. It was as if they were trying to make up their minds whether to be afraid and cry or not.

Splinter, playing it calm, removed the small rectangle of stiff paper that had emerged from the front of the camera. There was a black square framed by shiny white.

Wondering what he had done wrong, he went to retrieve the manual-- and then he noticed that something was beginning to appear! Slowly, gradually, the black box began to fade in places, to lighten here and there, and to Splinter's great joy, four small green shapes began to emerge from the blackness, as if by magic!

Fascinated, he watched, oblivious to the fact that four pairs of blinking eyes were now staring at their grinning father.

Splinter felt such accomplishment! In his hand was his first picture of the Turtles! Michelangelo, his foot in his hands, was caught in the act of trying to see if he could get his toe into his mouth, while Donatello was looking at the pictures in one of the books Splinter had found, and pretending to "read" to Leonardo, who sat there with a smile on his face pointing to one of the pages. Raphael was frozen in time in the midst of a summersault attempt, something he had performed accidentally one day while playing and had been trying unsuccessfully to recreate ever since.

"Wassit?" Michelangelo piped up, the first to recover. He had gotten up and was standing there, tugging on Splinter's robe insistently, pointing with his other hand at what Splinter was holding.

"It is a picture of you, my son," Splinter knelt down to sit on the floor, gathering his youngest to him and showing him the picture.

Michelangelo's eyes went wide!

"They's Rapiyel!" he said in surprise. A chubby finger poked the picture. "They's Dontello an' Lenardo! Hows they get inna pitsure? Whosit?" And he pointed to himself.

"I took the picture with a camera," Splinter explained, as the other three crowded in suddenly, vying for the best view of whatever it was Michelangelo was looking at. "A camera takes pictures, like in the books and magazines that I show you. This is you, Michelangelo."

"How it work?" Donatello was trying to get the camera out of Splinter's hands now, studying it as best as he could while struggling to pry this fascinating device from his father's grip.

"I do not know how it works," Splinter said, firmly holding the camera with one hand. "Do not try to take it from me, my son."

"Wanna see!" Donatello fussed, determined. He usually did as he was told without question, but this was just too good of a thing to pass up! Splinter always showed him how things worked! Why not this? "Wanna see it work! How it work?"

Splinter, sighing, adjusted his sitting position to accommodate Donatello.

"I will show you, but you must not try to take it from me, my son," he said, positioning Donatello on his lap so that the camera was before both of them. "Inside this machine is some special paper. This little window is where you look at the person you want to take the picture of. This button makes the camera 'take' the picture. It makes it flash, and then whatever you are looking at will show up on the paper. I do not know how that happens. I only know that it does."

"Wanna take a picture!" Don grinned hopefully, looking up at his father's chin. "Wanna take a picture of Micha'anjo!"

"Yes! Take my pitsure!" the youngest shouted, getting up and standing directly in front of Splinter and Donatello.

"Hey! I wanna do it too!" Leonardo said, squeezing into the space on Splinter's knee where Michelangelo had been sitting. "I wanna do it too!"

"Me too!" Raphael piped up, trying to find a place to fit into. "Me too! I wanna do it too!"

Splinter positioned Michelangelo back some, and lined up the shot himself. Then he allowed Donatello to look through the "window".

"I sees him! He's tiny!" Donatello suddenly yelled, jerking his head away from the camera to look at his brother. But now he was his regular size. Then he looked in the "window" again, and saw that once more his brother was magically smaller! Looking up, he was his normal size again! "How's he do that? How's he get tiny then big? How's you get tiny then big, Micha'anjo?"

Michelangelo looked at his brother, face scrunched up in complete puzzlement.

"I's not tiny! I's a big boy!" he insisted. "I's a big boy like you!"

"You's tiny in the window!" Donatello insisted right back, once again moving his eyes from the viewfinder to his brother and back.

"It is a trick of the camera," Splinter said before an argument could erupt. "It is a trick of the camera and I do not know how it is so, but that is what it does. Now, let us take this picture."

Guiding his son's hand to the button, Splinter gently helped Donatello push the button. The flash once again startled them all, but this time no one was worried about whether they should cry or not.

The paper rectangle came sliding out of the bottom of the camera to a chorus of "OOoooooh"s, and they pushed in even closer to stare at the black square.

"I doesn't see him," Raphael pointed out. "I doesn't see anything!"

"Have patience, my son," Splinter replied, and as they stared at the square, they gasped in growing surprise as the image of their little brother emerged before their very eyes!

"Me next me next me next!" came the shouts...

He still had film. He had been sparing, saving what he could for important occasions. They all loved having their picture taken it seemed, and it was a special rare treat when father got out the camera.

"Pitsure! Pitsure!" Michelangelo, catching sight of what his father carried, jumped up from the floor with Mr. Growlly and began to hop with excitement. "Wanna take a pitsure of Mistah Growlly!"

"Later you may take a picture of your bear," Splinter promised him. "For now, I am getting it ready for something special."

"Special?" Leonardo asked, grinning. "Playing with the blocks is special!"

"No, summersaults is special!" Raphael contradicted, suddenly getting into position. "Look! I's learned to do it!" And he managed to pull off a very sloppy, lopsided summersault, knocking down the tower of blocks in the process.

Splinter laughed.

"No, my son. I am waiting to take a picture of something even more special," he replied, making a big show of fixing up the camera, cleaning the lens and making sure that there was precious film in it.

The foursome kept peppering him with questions and guesses, but Splinter merely smiled and told them that they would find out soon enough.

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"Hey! I remember this!" Michelangelo suddenly shouted, drawing the attention of the three visitors on the couch across the room. "You said that the first one to--"

"MIKEY!" his three brothers shouted in unison, frantic to keep him from saying any more that might be overheard.

Splinter, still looking at the photos, smiled widely.

"Yes," he said quietly, ignoring any outsiders that might be curious to what they were now discussing. "I turned it into a contest between the four of you. You were all anxious to use the camera. It was your special magic toy, and a great rare treat. And I needed to celebrate your achievements according to the book I had been reading. So I told you that I was saving it for the first one who learned to go to the toilet on his own."

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"When you learn to go to the toilet without being told to, or telling me that you have to, then I will take your picture," Splinter said. "And then you may take the picture of the next one who learns to use the toilet all the time on his own."

Four little faces exchanged looks, trying to process this.

"Has to go!" Michelangelo shouted suddenly. He tried to grab Splinter's hand, but had to settle for his robe. "Has to go potty!"

Splinter shook his head.

"You have already been," he admonished. "Just a little while ago. You must not say you have to go when you do not."

Michelangelo thought about this.

" 'kay," he said, letting go of his father's clothing. Then, without a word, he ran with his bear to the bathroom as fast as his little legs would carry him.

"I's goin'!" he shouted at the top of his voice after a few seconds. Splinter and the others went to the bathroom to find Michelangelo on the toilet, face scrunched up with determination. "I's goin'! I's a big boy! Take my pitsure!"

"Michelangelo," Splinter said, lifting him down from the toilet. "You are not going to the bathroom. You have already been. You must wait. You must not pretend."

But Michelangelo was not to be dissuaded.

"I does has to go!" he insisted, jumping around as if he would have an accident at any moment.

Splinter allowed him to once more get up on the toilet, but after five minutes it was painfully obvious even to the Turtle that it was not time.

For the rest of the day Michelangelo tried this ploy, running to the bathroom and insisting that he had to go when he didn't. Soon Donatello and even Leonardo, afraid that their brother might actually succeed, began to make unscheduled trips themselves, only to taste defeat and humiliation-- especially after once such false alarm by all three, they had returned to the living room to play-- only to have three simultaneous accidents.

Splinter was not happy, but he did not punish anyone or show any anger. After all, they were trying, and he should have been prepared for the possible results.

Raphael, on the other hand, refused to play along. He squirmed and fussed until Splinter would ask him if he had to go, and then he would only go to the toilet with great reluctance. He still viewed it as something that was not to be trusted.

"I's gotta go!" Michelangelo shouted once again, at the supper table, and before Splinter could react, he was out of his chair and on his way, closely followed by Donatello and Leonardo, both insisting that (once again), they, too, had to go. Splinter sighed, and looked at his remaining son who was calmly eating.

"Do you have to go, my son?"

"No, I don't got to go," came the honest reply. Then, in a hesitant voice, he said, "I don't like the potty, Father. It's scary."

Splinter, one ear on the inevitable squabble that had broken out in the bathroom over who really had to go versus who did not, drew in a deep breath at this statement. Raphael never said he was afraid, even when he was. Even that terrible day, shortly after they had moved in, when he had gotten out of their new home and got "lost", he never said he was afraid-- though he sure had shown it.

"My son, I would never have you do something that was dangerous," he said (No, I was not thinking of my planned revenge against the Shredder at the time, thank you for pointing that out Michelangelo!). "It is something we all have to do, Raphael. But you must never be afraid of it. I know that falling in frightened you, but I promise you that (Michelangelo! Fifty flips and a two thousand word essay on showing respect to your family!) you do not need to be afraid. I promise you on my honor."

Raphael looked at his father's solemn expression, and listened to his calm, honest words. Then he nodded, and went back to eating.

Meanwhile, three dejected and angry turtles returned to the kitchen, blaming each other for the accidents that had just happened in the hallway.

Bedtime. Middle of the night. Splinter awoke to the sound of water running.

Quickly he arose and made for the sound. The last time he had been called from his bed like that he had found Donatello trying to turn on the faucet in the bathtub so he could see if his pillow would float like in the dream he had just had.

The light from the hallway did not show him who was in there at first. Switching on the bathroom light, he was met with a triumphantly grinning turtle.

"I hadda go! I waked up and I hadda go, so I goed in here!" the little one shouted proudly.

Splinter, listening to the sound of success, returned the grin, and immediately went for the camera.

"I am very proud of you, my son!" he praised him, and the flash lit up an extremely happy--

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"Raph?" Mikey shouted, once again causing the three guests across the room to focus their attention on the family. "Raph was the first to--"

"MIKEY I swear I will KILL YOU!" Raph's threat drowned out the rest of his brother's shocked revelation.

Don, taking the book from Splinter, stared at the last picture on the page. There, indeed, was Raph, sitting on the toilet with the biggest, proudest grin in the world.

Under the picture was a notation.

" 'December 3rd, Tuesday, 3:15 AM-- Raphael uses the toilet on his own. Picture taken by Splinter'," he read softly, fear growing. Quickly he turned the page, and there was his own picture! He, too, was sitting with a proud grin; he, too, was looking triumphant. He, too, had a caption. " 'December 3rd, Tuesday, 2:43 PM-- Donatello uses the toilet on his own. Picture taken by Raphael'. RAPH? RAPH took my picture?"

He felt humiliated.

"That was the reward," Splinter replied simply. "Remember? The first one to finally become potty trained would get to take the next picture. And so on," he added as a hint. Don, looking at his father, returned his gaze to the book.

There was a picture of a goofy grinning Michelangelo, holding onto the seat for dear life and yet appearing to be extremely happy.

" 'December 5th, Thursday, 7:57 PM-- Michelangelo uses the toilet on his own. Picture taken by Donatello'."

"No, way!" Mikey shouted, suddenly snatching the book and looking at his picture. "I think I remember this... yeah, I kind of do remember it... and that means..."

And he suddenly started laughing, dropping the book and looking at Leonardo, who was as red as any green turtle could be.

"Let me see that," Raph said, snatching up the album before Leo could grab it. Reading, he started to laugh, too-- slowly at first, then louder and faster.

Leo hung his head, feeling a strange mixture of mortification and anger.

" 'January 2nd, Thursday, 12:12 PM-- Leonardo finally uses the toilet on his own. Picture taken by Michelangelo'. Oh, man! FINALLY!" Raph gasped, and now Leo wanted nothing more than to destroy that book.

Splinter, possibly sensing Leonardo's desire, took the album from Raphael and carefully held on to it.

"So you see, my sons, this being 'first' is not really important," Splinter calmly said as the other three had a laugh at their leader's expense. "In the end, all that matters is that you all master what you are being taught. Do you understand what I have been saying?"

It was a few minutes before three of them could answer-- their voices still shook...

"No-- no we don't," Don finally managed to gasp out. "Honestly, Sensei, all this has done is bring up embarrassing firsts. Raph was the first to become potty trained. It's hardly something to brag about."

"And yet being the first to master a kata is?" Splinter asked. "Being the first to master a lesson makes you better than your brothers?"

He looked in the book again, reliving old memories of other firsts-- their first lesson with weapons; their first stitches; their first battle wounds.

"You have all had firsts, whether embarrassing or not," he continued. "For example, there was the first time one of you discovered, while sitting in the bathtub, that you could--"

"NO!" four voices, united in fear, each one thinking about something that he had maybe done and wondering how Splinter knew about it, pleaded with their father and teacher to go no further. There had been enough emotional embarrassment for now.

"Then I will ask this again. Do you understand what I have been saying?"

They looked at each other once again. Leo took a deep breath.

"Yes, I think so. You're right. Being first is not important, as long as we all master it. I understand that now."

Splinter was not really convinced that he had gotten his point across, but he thought that perhaps for now he should just let it go. After all, they had guests.

The four bowed to Splinter and got up to leave. Mikey, his mind on the possibilities of torturing two brothers, and trying to decide which one to start with, suddenly had a question.

"Hey! If Raph took Don's picture, and Don took my picture, and I took Leo's picture-- then who did Leo get to take a picture of?"

"Can we just drop it?" Leo said forcefully. "It doesn't matter." _Especially to me_, he thought. _I've had enough humiliation for one night_.

But in the back of his mind, he did wonder. He vaguely remembered being allowed to use the camera, but he didn't recall whose picture he took-- probably it was something unimportant.

Splinter watched the four meet up with their friends, and breathed a sigh of relief. Going to his room, he carefully put the book of firsts into his bedside drawer-- and pulled out an old photo that he kept hidden in the back.

He had finally mastered how to use the device the correct way. All the work spend training his sons had forced him to deal with his own failure. And once he had mastered it, he had allowed Leonardo his chance to use the camera.

__

But there is NO way they will ever see this picture, he thought. _After all, there are **some** things that are not meant to be known..._


End file.
